KATACLYSM: A Space-Time Comedy (13 page)

“As I was saying,” Avery went on.  “I know that M&M rounds aren’t strictly a place for discussion of medico-legal issues, but since I see a few new faces, I thought I’d get onto my soapbox for a second.”

The chief of medicine took in a slow, pained breath.  Eric’s stomach growled and Avery gave him a sharp look.

“I’d like to call your attention to an article that was in JAMA a few years back now.”

The chief enunciated the journal acronym so deliberately and with such deference that it made those who heard it feel as though they were discussing some divine power rather than a publication out of Chicago.

“This article compared patient outcomes between physicians who got sued and physicians who didn’t.  And do you know what they found?”

A hand shot up next to Avery.  It belonged to an obviously keen resident with tiny round glasses and slicked back strawberry hair.

“Put your hand down Johnson!  It was a rhetorical question.  You’re not allowed to start kissing my ass until after I’ve had my coffee.”

Johnson slumped back dejectedly.

“Ok…where was I?...Right.  Outcomes.  You know what they found?  No difference.  Bad outcomes do not equal lawsuits.  Surprising right?  So what does?  Well I’ll tell you…Communication.  It’s how you talk to patients that matters.  It’s about an open dialogue.  It’s about compassion.  It’s about being empathic.  If you don’t want to get sued…”

Eric leaned in and whispered to Emily again.

“No matter how many times I hear him give this speech, it still cracks me up.  Talk about the kettle calling…”

“Hey Silver,” shouted Avery.  “Care to share your little joke with the rest of us?  You know, you of all people ought to be paying attention.  I mean, I believe you’re the only one in this room who has been sued in the last three days.  Am I right?”

Eric’s face went white.  He had endured more abuse than he cared to think about from Avery during his time at Massachusetts General and he was nearly reaching his breaking point.

“Just to set the record straight Dr. Avery,” he said choosing to ignore a sneer from Johnson. “It’s my first one ever and there was no bad outcome.  In fact, it was a miracle.  There isn’t a court in the country that would find us negligent.  He has no case.”

Avery coughed and wheezed at Eric.

“Well, be that as it may, we’re still going to spend the next few minutes watching this video on communication skills,” he said as he motioned for Johnson to click on a hyperlink and launch the clip on the screen at the front of the boardroom.  “It’s a bit slow though, and we don’t have a whole lot of time this morning so we’ll watch it on fast-forward.”

Eric shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to Emily a bit too loudly.

“Shut up, Silver!” Avery wheezed again, pounding on his chest with his right fist.

Perhaps it was the months of sleepless nights getting to him, but Eric was having real trouble controlling himself.

“You know Dr. Avery, I was going to mention this to you later, but since I have the chance, I should tell you that you’re also named on that lawsuit…along with the hospital, the clerks, the orderlies, the entire janitorial staff and, I think, every patient who was on that man’s floor in the past year.”

Eric shook his head and gave a chuckle.  Johnson had managed to start the video and was trying to figure out how set it on fast forward.

“Silver!” shouted Avery.  “I’m really getting sick of your attitude.  I’m trying to help you learn how to deal with people.  Now why don’t you keep your mouth shut, pay attention…and start working on having some fucking empathy!”

“He’s quite miserable, you know” said Amaurosis Fugax when the conference room had faded away, “and not without good reason…but this is where things get complicated.”

The brain’s three guests eyed it wearily.

“Please do not look at me in that way,” it said.  “After all, you have come this far to hear the whole story.  And here is the important part.  Wormholes, like the one Paroophoron created, are inherently unstable structures because space-time is a dynamic environment which does not tolerate being constrained for too long a period of time.  That’s the good news.  The bad new is that it does take a while for such a hole to disappear completely.  Some last hours, while others linger for weeks.  This particular hole will close permanently not long from now…at exactly 8:00 p.m. this evening Boston time, I believe.  But not before Eric Silver reaches the height of his frustration…and…”

“…not before he gets some more tea,” finished Jude.

“Precisely,” said Amaurosis Fugax with a glimmer in her swirling eye.

The brain vaulted up to the highest reaches of the room and suddenly Hutchinson and Crépuscule had reappeared in front of the group.  This time the image seemed grainier than before.

“I’m sorry for the poor quality,” the brain called down to Paroophoron and the humans.  “Obviously, this has yet to take place so this is just a crude representation I have put together.”

“…It’s treasonous!  It’s outrageous!” shouted the blurry image of Hutchinson standing before them.  “Why, I ought to have you arrested where you stand.”

The Governor grabbed the untouched cup of tea in front of him and took an angry sip.  Abruptly, he stood up, opened his window and spat the contents of his mouth onto the ground below.

“Edward!”

The servant who had been waiting dutifully outside the study burst into the room to see what was wrong.  On seeing his master’s expression, he cowered and bowed humbly.

“Edward!  This is the vilest syrup of a tea that I’ve ever had the misfortune to taste.  I sent for Orange Pekoe.”

“Ay, sire.  But ‘tis my hard luck that the tea which I swear to ha’ saw in yer pantry on’y this morn’ is somewhere lost.  I hoped to satisfy ‘ee by brewin’ a fine pot o’ hyson tea. ’Tis among the finest teas in the land.”

Hutchinson eyed his servant coldly.

“Hyson…hyson!  You dare bring me hyson.  Pale green hue and delicate sweet flavor be damned…I hate hyson!”

Standing up, the Governor reached into the upper drawer of his writing desk and grasped something that Jude, Flower and Paroophoron could not see.  Then, after a moment’s consideration, he withdrew his prized flintlock pistol and fired.  Edward collapsed onto the floor. He died a few seconds later with a look of terror and amazement still on his face.  The Governor walked over to the window and stared at the street below.

“Very well monsieur, describe your plans.”

The brain descended from its perch as the image faded.

“That was my great, great, great, great, great grandfather?” Flower hesitated.

“Without a doubt,” replied Amaurosis Fugax.  “Now, Edward Pierce was never a man of great consequence.  Indeed, history originally recorded that he moved back to England shortly after his service to Governor Hutchinson came to an end, leading a quiet life before dying inconspicuously.  But in the interim, on a night not long after his return from America, Edward had a brief romantic interlude with a barmaid.  Their relations produced a daughter…your great, great, great, great grandmother, Flower.  And when your parents perished in that awful car crash, you became her only descendant.”

The brain paused, allowing the gravity of its words to sink in.

“So when Eric Silver reaches into his locker this evening just before eight o’clock, pulling out a package of black tea and in the process pushing a package of hyson to the front of the tea cabinet, he causes the events which you just saw to unfold.  He causes Edward’s death.  He causes a single change to the future, our present. He causes you to cease to exist.  And if you do not move quickly, you will not be able to stop him.”

Flower, who suddenly realized she had been holding her breath for the brain’s whole speech, let out a long exhale.  Paroophoron consulted his red flashing box.

“Amy is right.  We need to leave if we’re going to make it back to Earth in time to stop him from pulling out another packet of tea,” beeped the alien.  “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute,” said Jude.  “This is silly.  What’s the rush?  Even if we don’t make it on time, why can’t we just go back in time later and prevent Hutchinson from shooting Flower’s grandfather?  We could just put some more Orange Pekoe into his pantry.”

“I’m afraid that is out of the question,” replied the brain.  “What Paroophoron did this past Sunday on Earth was an accident and, even so, I suspect he will be receiving a rather hefty fine from the intergalactic trade guild.”

The little green alien hung his head morosely.

“But one cannot simply open holes in time when one wants too.  The consequences are too great.”

“Oh screw the consequences,” said Flower nastily.  “This is my life.  Who cares if changing a few teabags will make someone from Swaziland play for the Red Sox or whatever?”

“Why, it is not that at all my dear,” replied the brain soothingly.  “It is not that at all.  You see, the sad truth is that it all comes down to taxes.  Any system of taxation, such as the one we have in our universe, relies on the forward motion of time.  As you can imagine, when time travel was invented, some people took advantage of certain…shall we say…loopholes.  They would live for tens or even hundreds of years at a stretch and then simply travel back in time and live out the same period over and over again…all the while filing only a single intergalactic tax return.  Of course, they put a stop to this practice very quickly and it is now impossible to travel back in time without a permit…and one cannot obtain a permit without a very good reason.”

“And this isn’t a good reason?” said Jude skeptically.

“Oh dear, I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that you could never get a permit for something as trivial as this girl’s life.”

“I had never appreciated how relative the word ‘trivial’ was until this moment,” said Flower.

“Come on,” said Paroophoron, giving a tug to Flower’s blouse.

“I hope you have enjoyed my new setup here,” said the brain.  “Be sure to tell all of your friends about it.  Oh…and take this.”

A red flashing box just like Paroophoron’s materialized in front of the humans.  Jude grabbed it.  Affixed to the box he found what he could only guess was a business card.  It had a flattering picture of Amaurosis Fugax accompanied by the words ‘TIME IS BRAIN’ in large letters.

“I have prepared the information in the box just for you.  It took quite a lot of time but it will explain everything about the NRA and hedgehogs.”

Lost in the meanderings of the brain’s twisted story, the humans had forgotten all about Madame Sfortunata’s other predictions.  Paroophoron grabbed Jude and Flower by the arm, and with a surprising amount of force for his small body, pulled them along as he turned to leave through the enormous metallic door.

“What about the Messiah?” Jude called back to the giant brain.

“What Messiah?” the brain replied coyly.

“The Messiah who is returning to Earth tonight.”

“I am afraid you are mistaken,” said Amaurosis Fugax.  “No Messiah will be visiting your planet tonight.  Good luck…and don’t forget to tell your friends.”

The door slammed shut.

“He will come…He will come…He will come…”

It was just past lunchtime on Tuesday and Terry had been repeating these words quietly under his breath since they had returned to the monument early that morning.

“Come on, Terry.  Let’s get out of here,” said a shivering Greg.

The two phony cat massage therapists were seated on a bench next to the statue of Colonel William Prescott at the foot of the Bunker Hill Monument.  A cool breeze slowly passed across the hilltop.

“…He will come…”

“He’s not coming, now let’s go,” Greg tried a bit more forcefully, looking around with a deep sense of unease.

“…He will come…You know Greg, why don’t you leave if you’re so convinced,” said Terry as he gazed up along the obelisk into the sky.

In his right hand the leader brandished a silver handgun which he tapped intermittently on his thigh.

“I could leave if you wanted to leave with me,” said Greg indignantly, his eyes locked on the gun.

“No you couldn’t,” said Terry, still not looking at Greg.  “You’re too frightened to leave…and so you should be.”

Reluctantly, Greg had to admit to himself that he suffered from both a paralyzing fear of staying and a paralyzing fear of leaving.  He knew he was being crazy, but Terry and the cult had been his whole life for the past five years.  He simply couldn’t bring himself to go without taking his leader too.  Of course, he also assumed that his chances of being shot would diminish significantly if Terry went along with him.  So there they sat, Greg frowning and Terry whispering his mantra.  After a few more minutes of this, Greg’s frustration boiled over.

“Oh give it up Terry.  He’s not going to come.”

The leader turned and stared at Greg for a moment.  His gleaming hazel eyes only served to further frighten his panicked follower.  Then, setting down his gun, Terry unzipped his backpack.  Reaching into the largest compartment he withdrew an object that was unlike anything Greg had ever seen before. In his hand, Terry held a large, bizarre, other-worldly red flashing box.

“What’s that?” said Greg.

“This is how he talks to me,” Terry replied stroking the box in a way that Greg found deeply disturbing, as though it were a cherished pet.  “I’ve kept this secret from all of you for fear that you would try to have the box for yourselves, but there’s no harm in telling you now.”

Terry paused to look up at the sky once again.

“One day, all those months ago,” the leader began solemnly, “I was walking by a dumpster outside a restaurant and I heard a voice.  It said ‘Hello?  What’s going on?  I don’t have time for this’…I rummaged through the garbage and there I found this box,” he said holding it aloft, “and it showed me a vision…a vision of Adam.  I admit, it was difficult to see him or to understand his message, I being only a humble, earthly man.  But he told me that he would return bringing his extraordinary bounty and that I should await his signal.”

Terry gently set the box down on his lap.

“Then this thing, my only means of communicating with our divine Lord, went silent…and I began my quest to prepare…all the time keeping this box close at hand.  Three days ago my patience was rewarded. The box began to flash once more and he appeared.  Adam told me what I needed to know.  He told me he would come tonight and that we should make the big blowout we spoke about in that very first heavenly communication.”

“You’re going to kill millions of people, Terry.”

“I’m not killing anyone.  That is in Adam’s hands now.”

Terry stroked the box.  Greg shivered.

“He will come.”

Swiftly, the ship flew out of orbit around DSM V.  With Paroophoron at the helm, Jude and Flower settled into the back of the craft and began to examine the red flashing box given to them by Amaurosis Fugax.  Without warning, as they were turning it over in their hands, the box broke into two pieces and a fuzzy image of the brain was projected in front of the humans.

“Greetings,” it said in a bubbly voice.  “I know you have other things to attend to, so I will be brief and devastatingly effective.”

The brain’s black eye gave them a pseudo-wink.

“It is absolutely vital, in my line of work, to provide closure to all of my clientele,” it continued.  “To that end, I have created this presentation.  It has some nice visual aids and a zippy narrator and, most importantly, it should help to explain why you have been hearing so much about hedgehogs and the National Rifle Association.  Hopefully you will find it as informative as one of those clever nature shows on television.”

Suddenly, the box spit out a piece of paper.

“That,” said the image of the brain earnestly “is a feedback form.  Please take a few minutes at the end to fill it out so that I can get a sense of what worked and what didn’t.  Your answers will be kept in the strictest confidence and they will help me help you as well as others on future visits.  Thank you in advance and please sit back and enjoy.”

An earthy voiced narrator kicked in and the following is what Jude and Flower heard:

‘Over the last century, a small group of Americans has made a great fuss over their idea that humans of different races have evolved from different ape ancestors.  After long hours of work at local toll booths and gas stations they congregate to discuss the theory that their own ape ancestors were more prolific in gathering bananas than any of the other apes.

“Thank goodness people are starting to realize the importance of bananas and banana related issues,” says Banana Farmers International Inc.

“No. You’re missing the point,” reply these Americans angrily.  “It’s all about our rights as superior homo sapiens to command the respect and subservience of the lesser races.”

“Then as a ‘superior race’,” interject the farmers hopefully, “you’ll want plenty of fresh produce for your cereal and your fruit salads.”

“Of course,” say the Americans, happy that someone else is finally thinking of their needs for a change.  “We should be showered with fruit and other goods by all who are inferior.”

“So you’re not going to buy any bananas?” ask the farmers dejectedly.

“Forget the bananas!” yell the Americans.

In addition to this and countless other similarly pointless conversations, the band of Americans has a variety of methods for strengthening their position in the public eye.  First, they engage in quite a lot of shouting, often accompanied by pyrotechnic displays.  Second, and perhaps most crucially, many of them also insist on wearing exceedingly peculiar pointy white hats.

Having never attended university or, in some cases, even high school, most of these bizarre hat wearers would be surprised to find out that their behavior is not unheard of for people engaged in the field of evolutionary biology.  The famed biologist Jean Baptiste Lamarck provided perhaps the best known example of such posturing after he learned that his theory of evolution by inheritance of acquired characteristics was soon to be publicly challenged by Charles Darwin.  At that time, Lamarck was well known to creep into the front yard of Darwin’s estate where he would sequentially ignite thirty-seven turtles and dance around the flames in a sombrero screaming something about giraffes and their neck exercises.  For his part, Darwin would simply close his windows, resolve to endure what were certain to be hefty gardening bills and pray for humanity’s sake that no woman found Lamarck’s antics attractive.

Unfortunately for the funny hat wearing Americans, their theory of parallel racial evolution, like Lamarck’s theory, turns out to be dead wrong.  To understand the real story, one must venture back through over 350,000 years of human history following the dawn of humanity.  As it happens, if this was done correctly one would discover that virtually every human being alive today is a direct descendant of two apes whose names can best be approximated in our modern language by Abe and Phyllis Schwartz.  Now, Abe and Phyllis enjoyed an astoundingly successful monogamous relationship through which they begat numerous children whose descendants would include all of the Dalai Lamas, Mahatma Gandhi and Gene Simmons.  Events were in place to create a utopia the likes of which the universe had never seen.  Even the Lord Almighty himself took a moment from smiting a group of acned teenage firebeasts on Galactica VII to reflect on the marvels of his own creation.  Or so it would have been, if not for Phyllis’s unfortunate encounter with her uncle Jeb while Abe was out for an evening of jumping about and throwing feces at neighboring alpha males.

Jeb was a large, dimwitted ape who had a slick way of picking tics off apes he found particularly attractive.  As it happened, he also had an erinaceus albiventris or, in the common vernacular, an African Hedgehog for a pet.  Normally, like most of the other apes, Jeb would have had nothing to do with Phyllis.  This was because of Phyllis’s tendency to spend hours of the day fixing her hair in front of the local lake, a behavior which even the most easygoing hominids found obnoxious.  Alas one evening, Jeb ate too many wild berries.  And, with hedgehog in hand, he had his way with Phyllis just before Abe arrived home and angrily drove him away.  In a bizarre twist of science that would give heart attacks to even the most disreputable molecular biologists, Phyllis bore a son we shall call Billy Bob who had a small but key DNA sequence on Chromosome 2 that originally belonged to the hedgehog.  While Billy Bob looked just like his half-brothers and sisters, as a result of his unusual genetic makeup, he and his descendants were doomed to have an unsavory desire to shoot things with increasingly powerful weapons.  Indeed, Billy Bob was the father of all gun enthusiasts.  Ironically, the vast majority of the modern silly hat wearers are in fact Billy Bob’s progeny, but we won’t spoil their fun by telling them about the hedgehog.’

The fuzzy image of Billy Bob that had been projected in front of the humans disappeared and the image of Amaurosis Fugax returned once more.

“Each and every president of the National Rifle Association,” said the brain “has been a descendant of Billy Bob.  Flower, when your psychic, Madame Sfortunata, spoke of the current NRA president turning into a hedgehog, she was merely alluding to the near-infinitely small possibility that a precise sequence of unlikely mutations would result in the hedgehog gene becoming physically expressed.”

Flower narrowed her eyes as the recording of the brain continued.

“It turns out that if Eric Silver is successful in pulling out that teabag this evening, then in addition to the death of your ancestor, this improbable possibility will be realized.  It is hard to explain why, but think of chaos theory.  Instead of a butterfly’s flutter causing a tsunami across the world, a sip of tea will cause the President of the NRA to turn into an African Hedgehog.  That’s life.  Ta ta for now…and be dears and fill out my little form.”

With that, the brain disappeared.  The box stopped flashing and closed up again leaving a slit, presumably for the feedback form.  Jude and Flower were perplexed.  Not knowing what else to do, they stared down at the form.  The first few lines read as follows:

1. Choose the best answer describing the type of universe you live in:

Deterministic              Free will              Random chaos              Other (please specify)___

2. To what degree do you think this presentation will influence your views on the universe as a whole and your attempts to alter your future?

Not at all                  Somewhat              A lot                            My future depends on it

But before the humans could begin answering the questions, they were distracted by what was going on in the ship’s bridge.

“Uh oh,” said Paroophoron from his oversized sofa as the engine emitted a few unfriendly noises. The ship began to shudder.

“What do you mean ‘uh oh’?” said Flower who had gotten up with Jude to join the alien.  “What’s wrong?”

“My wife is always nagging me about this,” beeped Paroophoron who was sweating heavily.  “But this time it’s her fault.  She was the one who sent me on all of those errands.”

The alien punched at the controls in exasperation.

“What’s her fault?” said Jude.  “What’s the problem?”

Paroophoron swiveled in the sofa to face the humans.

“We’ve run out of gas.”